The former workaholic

Month: January 2017

The current political atmosphere (and the Executive Orders signed by the Cheeto-In-Command), is already starting to hurt a lot of people who need affordable health care: the poor, the disabled, the sick and the elderly.

Bad Week

My friend, who needs her medications in order not to be a crying mess, is still fighting Medicaid for her refill. Those medications cost $38 A PILL. Her doctor does not have samples of this medication, so she is trying her best to fight withdrawal symptoms from her medication. I have been in the same situation as her and it is PHYSICALLY PAINFUL AND SCARY. All I can do is comfort her and encourage her to KEEP GOING because she is SO CLOSE TO GRADUATING! I just pray this horrible situation will not trigger a seizure for her.

I dodged a bullet..for now

I discovered I am low on my chill pills, so I checked the pharmacy online to see if I could order them. I was lucky I still have approved refills and that my health insurance has not been a dick to me in terms of pricing. My 30-day supply costs me $4 (for now). With this medication, I feel sadness but its not the same sadness as before: the closest description to this sadness looking at the rain and the sound is muted. Without this medication, the rain would become a mid-day storm, annoying the crap out of me (and everyone around me). I will be gearing up and continue to keep tabs on my health insurance’s announcements to see the Cheeto-in-Command’s writing will affect our coverage.

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Last weekend felt like a huge hangover, combined with embarrassment the minute I stepped outside of my house. Inauguration was depressing so my GF and I headed out to an Anti-Inauguration Party to raise money for Planned Parenthood and the local women’s shelter.

The Cheeto in Command has Spoken!

After excising our Constitutional rights to ridicule/make fun/ disagree over the change of the glorified Executive Clerk, we participated in auctions to raise money for Planned Parenthood. Hell, that organization is as closest to the equivalent of Women’s Health Care Services in Canada.

It does not seem fair to make comparisons but Jesus…it is like steeping into two dimensions: one where women health services are as important as heart disease prevention and the other…well…(results may vary depending on which state you live in).

In Canada, there was an entire FLOOR in the Alberta Health Service Building in Edmonton dedicated to everything: birth control, STD testing, PAP smears. I was fascinated and awe-struck. No protesters in front of the office building trying to block my access to see a OB-GYN with stupid signs of unborn babies. Or Biblical Scripture. Or incessant yelling. And the visits were FREE with the medication REASONABLY PRICED. Just let that sink in…

In the US.. the Planned Parenthood mimics that system: clean, professional but with a few minor inconveniences (see above). That system fills the gap that my old GYN left after she stopped accepting my insurance. After scouring my health-plan’s network for a close-enough replacement (25 miles or less), it came to one doctor: a male GYN.

Pain where? Here?

It may not be fair to discriminate on which health professional should need my business, but I have to be honest: medical care needs empathy. I need to have access to a doctor that has a better chance of understanding PAIN from a particular body part that is not available to all human beings. And if you have ever been to the ER and screamed your head off in pain, all you would get is either “keep it down” or “take two of these and try to keep it down”. Female doctors aren’t exempt from downplaying pain, but knowing they can feel it or have felt pain in particular areas does help improve patient-doctor communication.

So I decided to continue going to Planned Parenthood for that much-needed maintenance for my lady-parts. Because they will accept my insurance and will accept my visits whether I have insurance or not. So far, no regrets. I still owe them A LOT.

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I got a call from a recruiter from a temp agency I used to work with. The interview went well until I told him I was a full-time student. In this interview, I managed to smile and stay cool. Although I wasn’t chosen for a position, I was glad I was headhunted for one. This setback did not made me feel down or shake-up my abilities as a potential employee. I was actually able to see and accept that I was not what they were looking for at the moment. The fact that I was able to view this experience in a positive manner is one of the first dramatic changes I am experiencing in the metamorphosis.

Growing Fashion Sense

This is a weird process. Before I felt like I didn’t deserve anything nice or “feminine” until I got a job. But after I have gotten gift cards from my family, I was able to shop and enjoy buying articles of clothing for myself. My tastes are evolving, but there are certain elements I couldn’t shake off, such as the affinity for the color black and skulls:

Not wanting to leave my bedroom before taking my medication is starting to become a habit. I wake up feeling all dumpy (in spite of having a good-night’s sleep), develop this fear of facing the day (or anyone) until I take my medication. In order for it to kick in, I have wait 30 minutes or so, then when that dumpy feeling goes away, I leave the room. This is causing me to get a later start in the day, so I am currently training myself to wake up earlier everyday before classes start.

The side effects when the medication kicks in full-swing is making me:

-more hug gable

-actually happy to be alive

-less hungry ( a plus?)

-go fully Julie Andrews on a sunny hill.

This wasn’t listed on the list of possible side effects leaflet 😦

Facing people while in this mode is better than when I would face people while on my old self. I would treat people better and vice-versa. The reality of taking medication is sinking in: it is not as much as to treat the illness, but to allow other people around you to 1) tolerate you better and 2) not to get worse, even though some people deserve to be treated horribly due to their actions. “Not getting worse” is as vague of a definition as that blurry line between losing control and having a backbone.

Have any of you gone through a metamorphosis? If so, how long has it lasted?